جن کے ہر مور پر بانڈ دروازے ملے
The yearning for wanting something is slowly leaving,
Turning away from these dead end corners,
Peering back at me,
There is a calling from somewhere far away to stay,
But these ears have deafened to unfamiliar sounds,
Lips moving but my voice lost,
Salty air around stinging my eyes,
The ugly aftertaste of my bitter life,
Let me find the way back from here,
To a place where the wind blows,
To a ground I can rest my head gently,
Dreams spilling freely out of me,
Searching high and low with nowhere to go,
The currents of this river pulling me,
Where I come face to face with my destiny,
Just another accept-embrace-flow,
Aren't there any other options,
Than these soft tired sighs?
Made for beckoning me to live this life.
There is a calling from somewhere far away to stay,
But these ears have deafened to unfamiliar sounds,
Lips moving but my voice lost,
Salty air around stinging my eyes,
The ugly aftertaste of my bitter life,
Let me find the way back from here,
To a place where the wind blows,
To a ground I can rest my head gently,
Dreams spilling freely out of me,
Searching high and low with nowhere to go,
The currents of this river pulling me,
Where I come face to face with my destiny,
Just another accept-embrace-flow,
Aren't there any other options,
Than these soft tired sighs?
Made for beckoning me to live this life.
Point out the signs,
Read my future out loud,
Tell me when everything is finally over,
There is serenity,
And some sort of happiness for me.
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